Normal people—those who do not fit squarely in either the “eat to live” or the “live to eat” categories but rather fall somewhere in between—enjoy going to restaurants. Savoring a meal that you didn’t have to make, perhaps in good company, is a universal pleasure. These normal people can appreciate a meal and think about it long after the waiter clears the dessert plates. Food musings are not reserved for the live to eaters.

Well, all of this is mere speculation because I am not normal. I am instead one of the group, an ever-growing population, of folks who can sit back and enjoy a nice meal out (again thankful that someone else labored over it for me) but who has the magnifying glass out. I don’t look for flaws; I’m not a critic or reviewer. I want to learn. I’ll pick apart a dish with imaginary tweezers to find within the creamy center: a flavor combination, a chef’s vision, a beating heart. I’d be a liar if I said that my own cooking doesn’t take inspiration from past restaurant meals; I think most would be if they affirmed the same.

Luckily for me, cooking and baking always seem fresh. The start of a new project — whether it be constructing a multilayered cake or just getting breakfast on the table in the morning (or, rather, in a pack for the train) — feels a little different every time; it’s like a break from the reality of that day, that moment. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been actively interested in cooking for several years; I will always be mystified, humbled by the way flour, butter, and water make layers of flaky pastry and even how just a ½ teaspoon of mustard can emulsify two competing forces — oil and acid — so seamlessly. The fact that I know the science behind these things doesn’t make them any less wonderful; the process feels new and beautiful every time.

Despite this, I have this annoying need to tinker. A neurotic tick. (This probably doesn’t come as a surprise.) I cannot leave well enough alone. Not just in the kitchen. I’ll look back at the bed I made several times, smoothing out the wrinkles, tightening the corners. It’s a way to regain control when life seems so very out of control. It’s a way to make everything a game, make the mundane fun. With food, it’s more about that second point. When I use a cookbook recipe, I usually find myself saying things like, “hmm, that sounds great, but it’ll be too sweet; how much sugar can I subtract before my measures affect browning and coagulation?” or “ooo, that flavor combination sounds lovely — but it would be even better with y instead of x.” For fun. To learn. And I usually like what happens. I liked lining the bottom of this cream tart with white chocolate that I caramelized. I liked coming up with variations on these delicious bites.

Fall is such a fabulous food season. In the heat of the summer, when farm-fresh zucchini, tomatoes and berries flourish, it’s easy to forget how soul-satisfying root vegetables are or how fragrant a fresh pear is. We get something in return for everything we give up, though. The juicy bite of a peach is traded for the crunch of an orchard apple and the tang of a buttermilk cake is swapped for the warmth of a spice cake (or an apple cider donut). This Fall, like a few in the past, though, we may experience a pumpkin shortage. And while representatives of my favorite canned pumpkin brand, Libby’s, assures that the orange stuff will be showing up on supermarket shelves soon, I’ve already started biting my nails. Although other varieties have a spot in my local markets, Libby’s will always be my pumpkin of choice.

What also begins with a “P” and is similarly scarce this season? Peanuts. So peanuts don’t conjure up any warm and fuzzy Fall thoughts, but they are equally essential to my cooler weather diet. I always have peanuts on hand, but my true vice is my peanut butter addiction. The disease is not uncommon, but I am one of its most hopeless victims. A peanut shortage has sent the price of peanut butter up and could really cramp my style. Many nights, I revel in dunking my spoon into the salty stuff before digging into some vanilla ice cream, the refrigerator light alone guiding my bite. And you thought I was a food snob? Au contraire! Ok, so maybe it’s organic peanut butter and homemade ice cream or Häagen-Dazs at the very least, but come on.